


tan lines

by yuzubalm



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atmospheric, Author once again goes overboard with describing the sunset...........and has no regrets, Canon Compliant, Farmer Kita Shinsuke, Gen, Growing Up, Kita character study, Life lessons from Grandmother Kita, M/M, Over the Years, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:35:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29761116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuzubalm/pseuds/yuzubalm
Summary: In the golden light, Shinsuke stretches his arms out into the horizon. Over the past couple of years he’s tended to the farm, he’s lost some fairness to his skin, and in its stead there is now a slight glow, testament to the hours spent under the sun, proof of the sun’s fierce, warm love.His tan lines.A study of life lessons taught to Kita Shinsuke; an ode to the sun, to the fields, to love.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke & Kita Shinsuke's Grandmother, Kita Shinsuke/Ojiro Aran
Comments: 18
Kudos: 63





	tan lines

**Author's Note:**

> My love letter to Kita Shinsuke. I love and respect you.

It's about six-thirty or so in the evening when the landscape of rural Hyogo begins to shift. The wind sweeps the rice field with a lazy, long-drawn huff which sends the stalks tingling, feathering into each other as they wave a soft goodbye to the sun’s kind company.Today, a bird caws, and in the distance, the sound of a train running travels faintly to his ears before gradually disappearing into the breeze.

_The six-twenty-five train._

Shinsuke looks up towards the sky and sees a smattering of pink and gray, marking the close of another day. Again the sun sets, as it did yesterday, and the day before, falling naturally into the cycle of days passed and days to come.

And like yesterday and the day before, Shinsuke takes off his gloves and smiles at the horizon as the sun’s final rays slip off his cheeks, down his sleeved arms and onto the ground, sweeping over his boots and the land on which he stands.

This is the sight he chances upon on a clear day in the middle of spring: the sky falls into a pattern of waves, pink darkening and melding with the remaining whites and greys of wandering clouds. The sun lowers itself to bow to the rising moon, respectfully bidding the day farewell, and as it does, it sends off a final glow. In the same way one may hold a fresh mandarin with two hands and pull its peel off with gentle, gradual tugs, the horizon falls open in pieces to reveal a juicy, amber center, warmth rippling through the intricate network of its pith. 

The gods’ offering to mankind; a taste of beauty.

His gaze lingers. Wavers. Turns to the house, where he knows someone will be waiting for him.

———

Tending to the fields isn’t easy, has never been. His workspace is shared with dirt, bugs, nature and the bright, bright sun, all day, every day, for days which stretch into months which stretch into years, for a work product which is often taken for granted and consumed with little fanfare. Farming is one constant act of nurture built on consistency and diligence. There isn’t a shortcut.

But there’s no need for shortcuts if this is exactly where he wants to be. 

_Kita_ , his form teacher had asked him when he first told her what his ambitions were, _with your grades, you could be a doctor. Why don’t you do that instead? Why waste that potential?_

He won’t forget the way he straightened up and looked his teacher in the eye as he replied, _What makes you think it’s a waste?_

Because it’s not. The wind in his face, the glow of the sun backed by mountains in the distance, and the feeling of soft, fertile dirt beneath his feet, all slip into sync with the beat of his heart and tell him otherwise every single day.

 _If you’re sure,_ his teacher had said to him slowly, setting her pen down onto the table next to his filled-up form. _If you’re sure this is something you won’t regret._

It is not a decision he regrets, not today, when the wind is this playful and the sun is this gentle and the mountains are clearer and greener to him than ever. Not on any other day. 

———

Shinsuke’s life lessons have led him down this path, in this way:

———

When Shinsuke is five years old, his grandmother tells him about the day she met her first love. 

“It was a hot summer’s day,” she says to Shinsuke, who sits on her lap, “an’ I was parched, havin’ worked all mornin’. Wasn’t until one in the afternoon that I’d get my lunch and water.”

Shinsuke’s grandmother used to sew, long before she became a farmer. Her fingers were long and nimble and could work a needle, her mind sharp and her focus undivided. _A pity_ , a gentleman might have said, _that those beautiful hands were ruined by hard labour._

Shinsuke decides, early on, that those men are wrong. Her hands, though weathered by years of sewing and farming, remain soft, imbued with a touch so gentle it could soothe a newborn. These same hands have held him, guided him, nudged him in all the right directions; these are the same hands that, at his current tender age, soothe him as they rub his back, hold his hands and ruffle his hair.

“I was sittin’ outside on the ledge, wanting to close my eyes and pass the half-hour away, when someone came up an’ sat next to me.” She raises her fingers to form the silhouette of a wide-brimmed hat around her head. “He gave me his hat, to shield off the sun. And he shared his water with me.”

Shinsuke nods patiently as his grandmother’s smile grows wider, more fond.

“I never asked him, y’know. I just looked at him when he passed me his cup and he only said, _don’t let the weather get ya_.” She brings her hands back to rest lightly on Shinsuke’s shoulders. “The water was lukewarm in the hot sun, but ’t was the most refreshin’ thing I’d ever tasted in m’ life.”

Even in her later years, she is spritely, energetic, and sharp. Shinsuke watches as her eyes light up and the smile reaches the crinkles in the corners, watches as her hands move and flutter and still. He wonders if the gods have blessed her like they have blessed the farm, like they have blessed the tips of his ears and the roots of his hair and the apples of his cheeks, places which his grandmother has touched and declared to be sacred.

“You may remember all the unfair things done to you, Shin-chan,” she says gently, patting his head, “but never forget when people are kind.”

For it takes very little for someone to be bad, but it shows real heart to be good.

From that day on, Shinsuke remembers.

———

Someone, you see, is always watching.

———

At seven years old, Shinsuke sits with his grandmother as she repairs a rip in a skirt, nimble fingers weaving as she guides the needle in and out, back and forth, until the seam purses shut.

“You’re really good, grandma.”

She smiles at him as she keeps her pins and needles back into the wooden box. “It comes with a lifetime of practice.”

It comes with practice, with dedication, with a peace of mind. Shinsuke watches as his grandmother shifts and places her palms together as though in slight prayer, before she rubs them together gently, letting warmth accumulate. Then, they separate and fall onto her lap.

“Let me show ya somethin’, Shin-chan.”

She pulls up her sleeves all the way to her biceps to reveal her upper arm, one shade lighter than her hands up to her elbows. Shinsuke blinks. He’s seen them so many times, but it’s the first time he’s truly noticed the slight tan that remains on his grandmother’s arms and the small freckles which dot her weathered skin. Instinctively he leans forward, but his hands remain on his lap, fingers pressed into his thighs.

She smiles and beckons him to come closer, to which he obliges, scooting forward just a few inches as she bunches her sleeves up onto her shoulders and lays her arms bare for Shinsuka’s gaze.

“‘S where the sun has kissed me,” she says gently, fingers grazing her skin beyond her elbow and back down to her forearm as Shinsuke watches. “The sun’s love will never fade.” 

Love from the sun, Shinsuke thinks, is different from mortal love. Love from the sun is eternal, omnipresent, powerful—too much and it’ll burn you. They need just enough, _just enough_ to pepper the skin. 

“The sun loved you,” he says.

“The sun loved me,” she replies, smiling.

His grandmother likes to tell him stories of gods and creatures of folklore which, he thinks, may not all be entirely cemented in reality. But each story about nature is one he retains. Stories of the sun, rain, earth and sky; stories of the fields, the elements in harmony—it is something he sees unravel before his very eyes, and is something he has learned to believe in.

“Y’know, Shin-chan—” his grandmother takes a breath. “There were people who’d make fun of me for bein’ a farm girl? But your granddad loved me for who I was. Loved me for these strong arms an’ blistered skin. An’ now that he’s not around, I love myself.” She grins and pinches his cheek lightly, thumb trailing the side of his face as her hand falls away. “An’ since I have so much love in me, I love you, too.”

Shinsuke gazes at his grandmother in wonderment as her thumb slips off the edge of his jaw, soft and comforting against his skin, and nods, slowly, as she breaks into a smile.

“So, wear yer farmer’s tan with pride.”

———

Shinsuke is twelve years old when he comes home from school and asks his grandmother this:

“Why are we kind?”

He’s sweeping the kitchen floor as he asks this question, expression unchanged save for the slight furrow in his brow. “Is it all for the gods, too?” he asks, not looking up until he’s swept the entire corner and past the fridge. “Why do we do what we do?”

He usually doesn’t ask questions, not to her. But today he thinks about it further. He recalls the boy in his class who hands out candy during breaks and smiles at the thanks he receives but trips the quiet girl in the hallway. He recalls the tears in her eyes as Shinsuke grabs her hand and pulls her up with ease. The stare he gives the boy who doesn’t look back. The tremble in her hands and the tiny, tiny smile when he firmly brings her to see the school nurse for her scabbed knee and gives her a band-aid.

The world is not kind in equal measures, he has come to realise. And it makes him wonder whether the gods view kindness in equal measures, too.

His grandmother glances up at him in surprise, but only mildly so. “Shin-chan,” she muses as she pours green tea into her cup, “why are _you_ kind?”

“Because,” he starts, and then stops. _Why?_ There’s no particular reason why. It’s not a performance for the gods to spectate and review. He is the way he is because he wants to be. That’s how he was brought up; to be proper, kind, firm and rational. He doesn’t waver, not even here, not even now, as the direction of his moral compass is internally questioned.

His grandmother hums as her hands curl around her cup of tea. “Well?” she asks, and Shinsuke can see the twinkle in her eye as she raises it to her lips. 

He empties the dustpan and leans the handles against the wall. “I think,” he says slowly, “I _don’t_ think. I act. It’s part and parcel of the day. I do it properly, I do it right, I...” he trails off, frowning slightly. “I don’t have a particular reason.”

His grandmother sets her fingers calmly onto the table top. “Do ya wish people any ill will?”

“...No.”

“D’ya want people to be happy?”

He pauses. Thinks of the ever-so-tiny smile. “Yes.”

She smiles. 

“Then, yer doin’ just fine, Shin-chan.”

———

Life as a good person is not a primrose path. But Shinsuke’s grandmother has treaded it and lived a proper life, and Shinsuke promises that he will do the same. 

———

Shinsuke is fifteen going on sixteen when he sees extraordinary kindness in the quietest of places.

By anyone’s records, it is not extraordinary. It is an ordinary Thursday, an ordinary afternoon, an ordinary ending to his fourth day of school. But it is extraordinary because Shinsuke becomes a witness to it.

It’s outside of the school compound, just a street away, that he chances upon the scene: a group of schoolboys approaching a kitten. He recognizes the look on the leader’s face; the same as the boy who handed out candy in class when he was twelve, and his blood rages. It’s with instinct that he starts walking faster, mouth opening to stop whatever might happen next-

“Oi, get outta here!”

He stops in his tracks, eyes widening slightly as another student wearing the same school uniform as him marches up to them from the other end of the road, arms folded, eyes narrowed. _Wow, he’s kinda tall,_ Shinsuke thinks first.

“What?” One of the schoolboys barks back, though he takes a step back. “Whatcha wann-”

“Aw, zip it.” The newcomer frowns and folds his arms in even tighter. “What do ya even think you’re doing, picking on a stray kitten, huh? Don’tcha feel any shame?”

The boys stand around looking slightly awkward, now, as the newcomer continues to judge them with a glare. “Uh—”

“Don’t ‘ _uh_ ’ me.” The newcomer takes another step forward, and Kita realises _oh, he IS tall,_ as he towers over the group somewhat. “Quit bein’ a bully. Go and play some arcade games or somethin’. Go on.”

The group hesitates, members looking at each other as they quickly back away, half-glares and mutters thrown in his general direction as they retreat and disappear round the corner. But the newcomer pays no heed to the final chatter, his attention now drawn to the kitten on the floor who’s eyeing him tentatively.

“It’s okay, there’s no need to be afraid...” the boy squats down and places one knee on the ground, reaching out as he turns his head to glance at Shinsuke. “So, ya here to watch, or…?”

 _Oh, that’s directed towards me._ Shinsuke opens his mouth, ready to dissociate himself from the previous crowd before he realises the boy’s smiling a little, the twinkle in his eye telling him that he doesn’t suspect him to be of bad character.

“Thanks for doin’ that,” Shinsuke decides to say instead, walking up to him with one hand still on his bag strap. “I was gonna tell them off.”

The other boy surveys him and nods solemnly. “Somehow, I think that mighta worked, too,” he muses, one hand gently brushing the kitten’s side as it warms up to him and leans into his arm. “You look like you could give a good scolding.”

Shinsuke blinks. “I don’t really scold,” he says, matter-of-factly, “but I would’ve today. Maybe.”

He earns a stare, followed by a hearty laugh. 

“I’m Aran.” The boy stands up, kitten gently nestled in one arm, the other arm extended towards him. “Ojiro Aran. Class 1-5.” 

He takes his hand and shakes it. “Kita Shinsuke, class 1-8.”

Aran smiles. “Let’s bring the cat to the caretaker.”

 _Trust,_ Shinsuke thinks as he walks with him back to the school grounds, fingers occasionally brushing the kitten’s back as they chat about the first week of school. He trusts this person. 

He learns later that Ojiro Aran is also on the volleyball team, and a damn good spiker at that. He learns that he’s reliable and sturdy, an ace-in-the-works. _I’ll earn your trust_ , he says confidently to the team as they train with and get to know each other. 

_No need to do that,_ Shinsuke thinks. _You’ve earned it already._

———

The seasons go by, and Shinsuke grows.

———

Shinsuke is seventeen when he cries in front of his teammates for the first, and only, time.

It’s beyond his control, he realizes, when he touches his number 1 jersey for the first time and feels something strike his heart with the force of a thousand suns. He sits down, listens to the coach list off numbers 2, 3, 4, but his mind stays on number _one_ , which he clutches in his hands, which he sees right before him, printed in a stunning black and white.

Before he realizes it, the corners of his eyes prickle, and his vision starts to blur as tears form, wobble, and fall. He hears the gasp of one of the twins (Atsumu, probably) and the muttering of someone else to his right (Suna, likely), but it’s all distant as he contemplates what he has before him—a culmination of his habits, his practice, his diligence, and now, something to show for it. 

It’s nothing special, really - just a leadership position in a high school club. It’s just one speck of matter in a universe wider than the realms of his imagination, just one part of his life which will eventually reach another stage, and another stage after that, so on and so forth. It’s not something to hold onto.

Yet, even as his mind recites all of this, he clutches onto the jersey even tighter and lets the tears fall. 

Aran pats Shinsuke’s shoulder tentatively as he sits back down from collecting his own jersey. 

“You okay?” he asks, thumb rubbing into his shoulder briefly, soothing him, before he releases it. 

Shinsuke heaves a long, shaky sigh and decides he needs to quell his tears. “I didn’t really expect this,” he mumbles, turning to face Aran who now holds his own number 4 in his arms. 

Aran frowns slightly. “But you knew you would become captain already.”

He shakes his head. “I knew,” he says quietly, reaching to wipe the tears off his cheeks, “but I didn’t know I would feel this way about it.”

They lapse into silence as Coach continues handing out jerseys. _Number seven, Atsumu,_ he says, and Atsumu bounds up in excitement. 

“Ha, ‘Samu! Single digit for me, double digit for ya. Loser.”

“Idiot, it doesn’t mean anything. Are you tryna say that Akagi-san’s a loser?”

“ _Huhh?_ You’re tryin’ to start something, ain’t ya-”

Shinsuke decides to clear his throat in this instance, and Atsumu freezes in his tracks. “Sit down so that Coach can continue,” he says quietly, eyes flitting between the twins who gulp in unison and nod immediately.

“ _Aaaand balance is restored_ ,” he can hear Suna whispering to Gin, who giggles in response. Aran sighs and pats his shoulder again. 

“The power ya hold.”

Shinsuke blinks, only now becoming faintly aware of the tear tracks still sticking onto his cheeks. “I didn’t intend for it,” he mutters, fingers tracing the remnants. “Just doin’ what I have to do.”

“But you hold it, anyway.” Aran smiles a little, and it’s soft, kind, and maybe something else that Shinsuke thinks he doesn’t quite yet understand, so he nods anyway. Aran nudges him on the shoulder and casts that same warm smile at him, and he feels his head clear just a little.

“Let’s walk home together later, okay?”

———

He tells Aran first, ten weeks from graduation.

“I think I’m gonna become a farmer.”

“Hm?” Aran’s voice trails from the other end of the locker room. “You’re gonna what?”

“Become a rice farmer.” He zips up his jacket and turns around. “D’ya think that’s a weird career choice?”

Aran inspects him closely for a moment, pausing, before he starts to laugh.

“Since when have you ever cared about what others thought of ya?” he says as he swings his bag onto his shoulder. “You’re Kita Shinsuke. You don’t need approval.”

“I don’t.” Shinsuke slings his own bag across his own, and moves to walk alongside him. “I was just thinkin’ if it’s the right choice.”

Aran tilts his head slightly. “Well, have ya thought about it?”

“Over the past year, yes.”

“And do you wanna do it?”

Shinsuke nods, because he does. “Yes.” He can picture his grandmother’s farm, his grandmother’s brand, to be preserved in the years to come through his labour, and feels certainty and warmth settle in his chest.

Aran smiles at him, and the warmth nestles even deeper. “Then it’s the right choice,” Aran says as he grabs the keys from Shinsuke’s hand and locks the door to the club room for him. “You’re gonna be the best farmer in all of Hyogo, maybe even Japan.”

Shinsuke can’t help but smile back a little as Aran drops the keys back onto his palm. “Yeah? Ya think so?”

Aran laughs in a way that is light and pleasant and rings clear in Shinsuke’s ears. “Yeah. Without a doubt. You’re gonna grow amazing rice and it’s gonna knock the rest of the brands outta the ballpark.”

“You’re exaggerating.” But the smile doesn’t fade from Shinsuke’s face as they walk out of the school gates and onwards back home. “Be sure to eat my rice, then, when it comes.”

“Of course.” Aran’s lips quirk upward smoothly, softly. “It’ll always be my first choice.”

They walk out of the school gates and away from the school grounds as the sun slowly makes its descent past the horizon in the distance. 

“And you?” Shinsuke slips his hands in his pockets, fingers feeling out the creases within. “Did ya tell your teacher you’re gonna go pro?”

Aran heaves a sigh. “He’s not the happiest about it. ‘ _Only if you’re sure_ ’, he said,” Aran replies, raising his hands to gesture inverted commas. “Well, I’m pretty sure. And I’m gonna be alright.”

Shinsuke nods. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah.” Aran pushes his hands into his own pockets, too. “Wow, look at us. Adulting, huh.”

“ _Adulting_ , indeed.” Shinsuke can’t help but laugh at that as he turns to his side to glance at Aran. Maybe he laughs a little more now that his high school journey’s coming to a close, maybe more when he’s around Aran in particular. “I look forward to spectating your matches,” he muses, “it’ll be like the old times.”

“ _Old times?_ ” Aran makes a face. “We’ve not even graduated yet and you’re calling ‘em ‘old times’. Goodness, Shinsuke.”

They walk a little further, past the traffic light and down the side of the road, following the stream.

“It’ll be different,” Aran continues after a while. “It’ll be a whole new team. No more Miya twins, no more resilient Omimi, devil Akagi, fiery Gin, snarky Suna.” He glances at him thoughtfully. “No more guardian Shinsuke.”

“But,” Shinsuke interjects, “Does the change in team affect how you feel about the sport?”

Aran shakes his head. “No.”

“Then, that’s good. The change in teams will be good.” 

“It’s just new, I guess.”

“Everything ahead is new, but why should we be afraid?” Shinsuke says, taking one hand out of his pockets and bumping his knuckles against Aran’s arm. The corners of his lips lift again as he leans in slightly and gives Aran a smile. 

“I think we’ll do just fine, don’t ya think?”

Aran’s eyes widen just slightly before he returns the smile, one that’s so warm and sincere that it touches Shinsuke right in the heart and almost makes him stop in his tracks, right there and then. 

“Yeah,” Aran replies, tone soft, almost hushed, as he takes a hand out of his pocket and grazes his knuckles against Shinsuke’s arm in return, a quiet, grounding sensation. “I think so too.”

The way home has never felt so safe, so warm.

———

“Can’t believe Sensei said that to ya.”

“It’s okay, it wasn’t malicious. And my mind’s made up, anyway, approval or not.”

“I know, I know. Still—”

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to defend my honour. I can do it myself.”

“Shinsuke, _please_.”

———

“Tachibana Red Falcons? That’s incredible, Aran.”

“ _Thanks, I mean, it’s all new but I have a good feeling ‘bout it, y’know?_ ”

“I know. I feel the same way. Let’s discuss it more when we meet our juniors later, okay?”

———

“How was training today?”

“ _It was okay, I guess—someone asked me today about how working with Atsumu was like, I was like, huhh?_ ”

“Ah, Atsumu. Give them his number then.”

“ _I—Shinsuke. I can’t just give his number to random people. Anyway, how was the farm today?_ ”

“It was alright. The sun’s been quite hot lately, but the harvest is lookin’ up, so it’s worth it.”

“ _Okay...remember to hydrate. I’ll visit next week, how ‘bout that?_ ”

“I’ll see ya soon, then. Don’t forget, it’s the six twenty-five train.”

———

Just like everything in life, it comes naturally. Just as the sun rises and sets and the fields sway with the wind and the waves of the ocean ebb and flow, day after day after day—

———

Shinsuke is twenty when he kisses someone for the first time.

It’s not that he’s never had a kiss. He has _been kissed_ a number of times, and in particular he can recall three specific instances: the first time, by a girl he knew in his first year of high school who thought he was sweet; the second time, by Omimi after they’d agreed to try it, and then the both of them realized it wasn’t quite meant to be; the third, by Atsumu, who did it on a dare and did not recover for a week afterwards. 

This is the first time he decides to initiate, and it all starts when he decides he needs to attend the game between the Tachibana Red Falcons and Japan Railway Warriors in September.

It doesn’t happen anytime before the match or immediately after, when the stadium’s crowded and filled with excitement and heat, or even a few hours later when they’re at dinner and the atmosphere is too lively, lights too bright and company too abundant. 

It happens later, when they’re walking along the road towards the train station and Aran asks him if he has a place to stay for the night or if he’s going to take the train home. 

“It’s an hour or so away, right?” Aran glances at his watch as they walk through the park (it’s a shortcut, Aran helpfully supplements). “You might have a little bit of time, but if ya need, you can always come over like ya did last time. Or did ya already buy a return ticket since it’s a weekday tomorrow?”

In the most typical of circumstances, Shinsuke would have secured a ticket out and back home in the same transaction. It’s just more efficient that way, he’d say, and it’s reassuring to have a way home. Trips must be planned, or at least travel routes, even in the smallest of circumstances.

“I didn’t get one,” he mumbles.

Tonight is different, though it is, in the same way, planned.

Aran glances at him, one brow raised. “Ya didn’t?” he asks, tilting his head. “Did ya forget?” 

Shinsuke shakes his head. “I just didn’t.” Not for lack of planning, though. Not really.

“Okay…” Aran frowns slightly. “You’re bein’ unusually cryptic. More so than usual.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t _‘oh’_ me…” he sighs. “C’mon, my apartment’s just a little bit past the station, just a bit more—”

In his mind, Shinsuke has an idea of a plan. In his mind, he goes back with him, sits him on the couch after they’ve washed up and tells him calmly and quietly. He thinks he’ll say yes, because he thinks there’s been enough build-up to it and he’s at least ninety percent sure it’s mutual, though he’d like to probe just a bit more— 

But Shinsuke in the present stops in his tracks, grabs onto Aran’s sleeve and pulls, hard.

“Shinsuke, _what_ —”

“Aran,” Shinsuke says abruptly, warmth flushing his cheeks, “please go out with me.” 

In the moment, with just the two of them in the empty park, witnessed only by the moon and her companion stars, he goes with his heart instead.

Aran stares at him, eyes wide. “Shin,” he whispers eventually, “you…”

“Go out with me, so that I can see you more often.” Shinsuke tugs at his sleeve again, gentler this time. “I like you, y’know. I mean it.”

“Shin….” Aran nods his head helplessly. “I mean, yeah. Of course, yeah. Let’s go out, I like you too, I mean—” he sighs loudly, burying his face in his hands. “ _Dammit_ , Shin, why are you the calm one and I the flustered mess?”

Shinsuke can’t help but laugh, even as he feels his heart race. “I dunno,” he says gently, hands gently moving to cup Aran’s face. “C’mon, don’t hide.”

“No. I’m embarrassed.” But he lets his hands fall anyway, and lets Shinsuke catch them with his own. “So you _are_ stayin’ over, then.”

Shinsuke smiles. “If you’ll have me.”

“My god, what makes ya think I wouldn’t?” Aran sighs, but he’s smiling too. “Then what are we doin’, standing around here for?”

“Then let’s go,” Shinsuke says, but he doesn’t let go of Aran’s hands as he takes one step closer. “Let’s go.”

“You say let’s go, but…” Aran trails off as Shinsuke takes a second step, stopping as he closes the distance between them. “You...”

“This okay?” Shinsuke murmurs, his grip on Aran’s hands tightening just slightly as he tilts his head and leans in close.

Aran’s eyes are grey, luminous yet soft under the moonlight, and impossibly close, such that Shinsuke can see each fragment of light reflected in his irises. “Yeah,” Aran mutters, eyes not once breaking his gaze, “yeah, it’s okay.”

“Okay...” 

It’s slow, but it happens all at once. Shinsuke tiptoes and leans in, closing his eyes as he presses his lips against his, letting himself feel the warmth of the kiss spread from his mouth to his cheeks to the rest of his body. It’s soft and gentle and despite everything, he starts to smile, and feels Aran do the same just as he pulls away and reopens his eyes. 

“Shin,” Aran says faintly, eyes slightly wide. “Pinch me.”

“What?”

“So that I know I’m not dreaming.”

Shinsuke laughs lightly as he pulls back. “You’re not,” he says softly, letting go of one of Aran’s hands as they slowly resume their pace and walk, side-by-side, out of the park.

“...Can I kiss you back, then?”

“...Kiss me when we’re back at your place.”

———

Shinsuke is twenty-one when he finally decides that he should tell his grandmother.

It’s not that he doesn’t want her to know—or maybe it is. Maybe he’s secretly, deep-down, afraid that everything will change, that somehow this one (admittedly significant) detail of his life will invalidate the rest of his being.

His fears, it transpires, are entirely misplaced, as he finds out one Friday evening when they’re tending to their evening barley drink at the kotatsu.

“You should bring him over soon, ya know, Shin-chan?”

Shinsuke doesn’t spill his drink, but he does glance up at her quickly, eyes wide. “Sorry, Obaa-chan?”

“Ya know.” She glances at him with a twinkle in her eye. “ _Him_. I want ta’ meet the man that makes ya happy; I’m not gettin’ any younger, too.”

It’s rare that Shinsuke is caught off-guard or lost for words, but this is an instance where he is both. “I…” he trails off, coughs, and tries again. “Obaa-chan, I was going to tell you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Shin-chan…” his grandmother puts her drink down and sidles over to his side slowly, one hand tapping lightly against his, currently wrapped around his cup. “I want ta’ know.”

Shinsuke pauses.

“Aran,” he whispers. “His name’s Aran.”

“Aran,” she echoes fondly. “I remember him, tha’ tall, sweet boy. Tell him ta’ come next week, I’ve things I wanna cook for ‘im.”

“Obaa-chan, I…” For the second time, words fail him, and he falls into silence, looking down into his cup, his grandmother’s hand still leaning warmly on his. 

She presses, gently, her palm onto the back of his hand, and asks him this:

“Are you happy?”

He blinks, slowly, and looks up. 

“Yes,” he says, “I am.”

His grandmother watches him and slowly, delicately, wraps his hands in hers as her face breaks out into the widest, most radiant smile.

“Then,” she murmurs, “I’m the happiest grandmother in the entire world.”

———

Someone, gods or not, will always be watching. And they will understand and love you all the same.

———

And so the sun continues to set, all warm hues and soft angles in its gentle waves. 

Whatever remains of the sun’s rays casts a golden glow, but any issues of lighting are resolved the moment Shinsuke steps past the fence and enters the yard, where a lantern is lit by the corner and modern lights are installed around the back entrance of, and throughout, the house. Sleeves rolled up, he peels off his boots and slips into a separate pair of shoes before making his way to the faucet, where Aran sits by the side patiently, smiling quietly at him.

He smiles back faintly as he reaches for the tap and spreads his palms to receive the running water, droplets cool to the touch. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” His boyfriend reaches out to take the sun hat slung around his neck as he rinses his forearms. “Long day?”

“Long day.” A slight bit of soap does the trick. “How was practice?”

“Coach was pretty nice today, actually.” Aran huffs a laugh, placing the hat by his side and taking something out of his bag. “So, not bad. Why, want me to cook dinner?”

“No.” Shinsuke rinses off the remnants of soap and twists the tap shut. “Stay here for a while.”

“Hm?” Aran glances at him questioningly, but says nothing as Shinsuke dries his hands, props himself up onto the deck to sit beside him and reaches for the tumbler of iced hojicha in Aran’s hands. “What’s up?”

“Nothin’.” Shinsuke smiles slightly as he lifts the bottle to his lips. “Just wanted to enjoy the sunset a little. Indulge me?”

Aran hums as he watches a few crows fly past in the distance, fingers curling around the bottle as it’s passed back to him. “Anything ya want, Shin.”

In the golden light, Shinsuke stretches his arms out into the horizon. Over the past couple of years he’s tended to the farm, he’s lost some fairness to his skin, and in its stead there is now a slight glow, testament to the hours spent under the sun, proof of the sun’s fierce, warm love.

His tan lines. 

Beside him, Aran laughs. “What’re you thinkin’ of, now?”

“Specifically? Nothin’,” he replies. “Maybe about the sun. About sweat. About hard work and the fruits of our labour.” About the freckles on his skin, the callouses on his palms, the grooves of his hands and fingers. “D’you ever think about how our bodies record our labour in these strange ways?”

“Like this?” Aran stretches his own arms out to line up with his own. “A bruise on my left arm from practising digs, scratch on my right index finger from an attempted block. Callouses from years of volleyball. Isn’t that the body’s way of collecting our experiences?” 

“Maybe.” Shinsuke nods thoughtfully. “Like how each mark has its own story, it’s...well...” he stops as Aran slowly puts his arms down and sighs softly. “Hm?” 

“The sunset,” Aran murmurs, gazing into the distance. “It really is amazing.”

Shinsuke follows Aran’s gaze towards the horizon and smiles as he drops his own arms into his lap. “You’re distracted, Aran.”

“Can’t blame me.” Aran gestures towards the sky. “It’s beautiful!”

Indeed it is, a myriad of clouds and slowly darkening hues of pink and gray, but Shinsuke knows when to tease. “A sight for sore eyes,” he replies, lips quirked upwards in mild amusement, as Aran raises his brows with incredulity.

“A sight for sore- _Shin_.” Aran sighs. “Only you have the right to call it that, y’know…”

Shinsuke laughs as he runs his hand across Aran’s palm and loops his fingers in his. “I see it everyday, Aran. I’ve memorised it.”

Aran shakes his head, but lets his hand be held anyway. “Doesn’t make it any less beautiful.”

Shinsuke glances at the gradually-bruising sky, at the clouds idly floating by, and then back at Aran, who stands by his side, watching him patiently.

_The sun loves me. And I love you._

And so he faces Aran and smiles, freely, wind in his hair, remnants of the sun still etched in his face, and everything is warm and comforting and _right_. 

“You’re right. It doesn’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> All you need to know is that I spent many days thinking about Kita, the fields, and sunsets. Also, Aran is one sturdy, reliable man. I would trust him with my life.
> 
> Kita here is thoughtful but also firm - but also slightly eccentric in his own way. I dug deep into his internal thought process; wonder if any of you feel the same about it, too.
> 
> Special thanks to [nae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritscript/pseuds/spiritscript/) who left the sweetest comments on my doc;;;;;; i love u wifey
> 
> see u around or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/yuzubalm) where I yell about a lot of things


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